Waters of the Heart

by Doris Davidson

  When she rose at six o’clock the following morning, her father, already washed and dressed, was sitting at the table supping the porridge he had made, so she poured some hot water into the white enamel basin in the sink. Since she started working, she had washed in front of Phoebe and him – prior to that, he’d been out before she got up – but today she could feel his eyes on her and was conscious that her thin cotton nightshift did nothing to hide her swelling bosom. When she turned round, she shielded herself by crossing her arms over her chest.

  ‘You needn’t be shy in front of your Da,’ he muttered, a thickness in his voice that alarmed her. ‘I used to see you bare-naked when you were a wee girl.’

  ‘I’m not a wee girl now,’ she retorted, going round the opposite side of the table from him.

  ‘No, that you’re not.’

  Glad to escape his penetrating gaze, she went into the bedroom wondering how to prevent a repeat of the situation, and came to the conclusion that Marie would have to rise at the same time as she did in future. Da surely wouldn’t make any embarrassing remarks when there were two of them there. When she finished dressing, she woke her sister, but waited until she heard their father going out before she returned to the kitchen. Because she was later than usual, she had to gulp her breakfast, and ran out with her coat in her hand.

  The dairy was extremely busy that day and, when she was left alone in the afternoon, she was so tired that it was all she could do to be pleasant to the queuing customers. It did ease off after four, and she had time to look at the clock. Only half an hour to go, thank goodness. At twenty to five, Miss Birnie not having appeared to relieve her, she was still in the shop when a young man came in. She hadn’t seen him before, but when their eyes met, she felt a stirring of interest.

  ‘A quarter of butter, please,’ he said, shyly.

  She opened a paper bag and slipped in one of the small pats she had made up earlier. ‘Is that everything?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ He handed over the exact money, smiling to her as he held the door open for the shopkeeper, who came hurrying in.

  ‘Oh, Cissie, I’m sorry I’m late,’ Miss Birnie gasped. ‘I was held up at Raggie Morrison’s sale. They’d blankets going half-price, and ladies’ underwear, coats and frocks reduced by twenty per cent, though I didn’t have time to try anything on. But I got a good alarm clock for sixpence. Was that Hugh Phimister you were serving?’

  ‘I don’t know his name, but he looked a real nice lad.’

  Her blush made Miss Birnie grin. ‘The three Phimisters are all nice lads, and Hugh’s only about a year older than you. His mother’s the woman that gets the half-pint of buttermilk every Saturday.’

  ‘Oh, aye, I know who you mean.’

  ‘She must be ill, for I’ve never seen Hugh in here before. Well, away you go, Cissie.’

  The girl was disappointed that she wouldn’t see the young man again, and on her way home, she kept remembering the look in his eyes when she had served him. Maybe, if he was taken with her, he would come back.

  Pat took her down to earth as soon as she entered the house. ‘I’ve tore my school breeks, and Marie says she hasn’t time to mend them.’

  ‘Neither I have,’ Marie pouted. ‘I’ve been rushed off my feet all day with cleaning and cooking and everything else.’

  Cissie sighed. ‘Take them off and give them to me.’

  The task presented no problem to her, for at school the sewing teacher had shown them how to make three-cornered rips almost invisible by using herring-bone stitch. ‘What’s for supper?’ she asked, as she threaded a needle.

  ‘Sausages from the butcher in the market,’ Marie told her. ‘They’re better than Findlay’s in George Street – his are all gristle and fat. And there’s mashed tatties and peas.’

  ‘Have you made a pudding?’ Pat asked, not aware – or not caring – that his private parts were in full view.

  ‘Semolina and jam.’

  He grinned. ‘I thought you’d been too busy to make any.’

  When Big Tam came home, his sweating face was an unhealthy grey, and he sat down in his chair with a thump, as if his legs had given way. ‘I’ve got a chill from that soaking I had on Monday,’ he informed Cissie. ‘I’ve been shivering since dinnertime.’

  Cissie prayed that he hadn’t caught a chill – he would get no pay if he was off work, and the money she and Joe took in wouldn’t feed them all. ‘I’ll get a gill of whisky from the grocer to make some toddy for you.’

  ‘You’re a good lass, Cissie.’ Digging his hand into his trouser pocket, he held out a half-crown.

  He didn’t touch the sausages and potatoes, but drank the toddy, shuddering as it went down. ‘Ach, sweet whisky turns my stomach.’

  ‘It’ll do you more good than swigging it neat!’ Cissie said, sharply.

  As the evening wore on, she grew quite worried by his dry hacking cough, and even more concerned when she saw that his breathing was shallow and laboured. ‘You should be in bed,’ she ordered, when he leaned back with his hand on his chest after a prolonged bout of barking. She turned her head away hastily when he unbuttoned his spaver as unselfconsciously as eleven-year-old Pat had done earlier. Her father did wear drawers – she’d had to wash them when she was looking after the house – but still . . .

  It was after ten o’clock before she went to bed, having first made a third cup of weak toddy for him using the dregs of the little bottle. Hearing him still coughing harshly, she crossed her fingers that he would be better by morning.

  Although she was anxious about her father, she still made Marie rise at the same time as she did. Big Tam, however, was too ill to be interested in either of his daughters’ maturing figures. He looked so poorly that Cissie asked, ‘Should I get Pat to run for the doctor, Da?’

  ‘No, it’s just a cough, but I’ll take a day off work.’

  ‘Do you want me to stay at home with you?’

  His answer had to wait until he regained his breath after a renewed fit. ‘No, Marie’ll be here.’

  ‘I’ll get a mixture from Coutts the chemist before I go to the dairy. It’s strong, and it should help you.’

  When she returned with the bronchial expectorant, Cissie gave Marie whispered instructions to go for the doctor if Da got any worse, and, on her way downstairs again, she asked Aggie Robertson to check on him at dinnertime.

  The girl was so concerned about her father that she didn’t notice Hugh Phimister in the shop that afternoon until she served him, then was so flustered that she stammered, ‘Is it b-butter you’re wanting again?’

  His dimpled smile made a thrilly tremble snake all through her. ‘No. Half a pound of crowdie, please – loose.’

  She weighed out the crumbly cheese and was wrapping it up in greaseproof paper when Miss Birnie came through from the room at the back. ‘I thought it was your voice, Hugh. Is your mother well enough?’

  The youth’s cheeks took on a slight flush. ‘She wasn’t too well yesterday, though she’s fine now. She’s, eh, busy.’

  Turning to the girl with a twinkle in her eye, Miss Birnie teased, ‘I think Hugh’s taken a fancy to you, Cissie.’

  Hugh waited until they were alone again, then he said, ‘Your name’s Cissie, is it?’

  ‘Aye, Cissie McGregor.’

  He held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Cissie.’ His firm grasp sent tingles up her arm. ‘What time d’you stop?’

  ‘Half past four.’

  ‘Would you like to come to the pictures with me tonight? We could go to the La Scala or the Picture House or the Electric, whatever you like.’

  Her heart sank. She’d never been to the pictures, but she couldn’t go out tonight. ‘My father’s ill.’

  ‘Another time, then?’

  ‘Aye, another time.’ Cissie was afraid that he was only being polite and wouldn’t ask her again. But when she went home, she was glad that she hadn’t accepted his invitation, for her father’s dark eyes were almost out of sight in his g
rey face as he lay propped up against his pillows.

  ‘Mrs Robertson made me get the doctor in,’ Marie told her. ‘He says it’s pulmonary something – to do with his lungs – and he’s pretty bad. I’d to get tablets and a new mixture.’

  Cissie went over to the bed. ‘How do you feel, Da?’

  ‘Not that good, Cissie, lass.’

  ‘You’ll be better in a day or two.’ At least he didn’t have what Rosie had, she thought, thankfully.

  It was two weeks before Big Tam’s breathing grew easier and his face lost its grey hue, though it was still very pale, and another week went by before the doctor allowed him to get up.

  ‘My legs feel like rubber,’ he said, as Cissie helped him to a chair.

  ‘You’ve been real ill, you know.’ She tucked a blanket round him as Marie stripped the bed. ‘Five minutes the first time,’ she warned.

  He didn’t argue, and seemed glad to get back into bed when the time came. ‘Oh, Cissie,’ he sighed, ‘I’m terrible weak.’

  ‘You’ll not be fit to work for a while yet.’

  With only Joe and Cissie contributing to the household funds, Pat needing a new pair of boots for his growing feet and the doctor’s bills to be paid, the McGregors had been forced to live very frugally, and Marie had been complaining for days. ‘I’ve never had to buy cheap meat, but I can hardly even afford that now, and I’m affronted to ask the butcher for just a bone to make soup.’

  ‘You should have told him our Da was off his work.’

  ‘That would be begging.’

  ‘It’s not begging when you pay for what you get.’

  ‘Could I not dip into the rent money?’

  At that, Big Tam said, feebly but firmly, ‘You’re not to touch the rent money, I’ll go back to my work tomorrow.’ But the effort of speaking so much made him clutch at his chest.

  ‘See what you’ve done?’ Cissie reprimanded her sister. ‘No, Da, we’ll manage. There’s no shame in being short of money, and I’ll give Marie all my wages till you’re better, and I’ll make Joe do the same.’

  Joe agreed to this once he was convinced it would only be temporary, and Marie’s pride was salved. She still had to buy cheap meat, but at least it was meat, and not just bones or scrapings off the counter.

  The doctor said that Tam could start work in another two weeks if he took it easy, but Cissie told him to stay off for a further week to make sure he was really fit.

  Four mornings later, Marie was washing herself at the sink after Cissie and Joe had left, whistling and splashing water all over the place, and her shift was soon soaked. It was clinging to her curves when she turned to get the towel, and her father murmured, ‘Your chest’s bigger than Cissie’s.’

  Not as modest as her sister, she ran her hands over her large bosom, so that her pink nipples shone through the thin fabric. ‘It was bigger than all the girls in my class.’

  Her pleasure in her body made him frown. ‘You’d better watch yourself with the lads.’

  ‘They liked it,’ she laughed. ‘Some of them tried to touch me, and Jackie Main put his hand up under my blouse . . .’

  ‘You’d better not let that happen again!’

  ‘Och, Da, hold your water,’ she grinned, impudently.

  ‘That’s enough, you cheeky besom, or I’ll . . .’

  ‘Or you’ll what?’ she demanded, knowing that he wasn’t fit to hit her. ‘Make me take down my drawers so you can belt my bare backside?’ She gave her skimpy shift a defiant little twitch as she went back to her bedroom.

  Fortunately for her own sake, she lost her bravado after Pat went to school and she was alone in the house with her father, and neither of them referred to the earlier episode.

  Hugh Phimister had asked Cissie out twice, but had been very understanding when she told him how ill her father was. On the Saturday of Tam’s first week back at work, she told Hugh that she could go out with him now, and he arranged to meet her at seven o’clock that night at the foot of Schoolhill. Her excitement was dulled by apprehension of her father’s reaction to this, and she broke it to him nervously.

  ‘You’re not long sixteen,’ he growled.

  ‘I’m old enough to go out with lads.’

  Her determined face stopped him from saying anything more, and Marie followed her from the room when she went to put on her Sunday clothes. ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Hugh? He’s awful nice.’

  ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘He’s about the same height as Da,’ Cissie began, rather shyly, ‘but he’s not so broad. His hair’s a kind of brown, not really dark but not really light, with a wave at the front, and his eyes are . . .’

  Marie snorted at her dreamy expression. ‘You’ve got it bad. What about his eyes?’

  Fastening her skirt buttons, Cissie sighed. ‘They’re a funny colour, greeny-brown.’

  ‘Greeny-brown? That sounds awful.’

  ‘They’re lovely and soft and smiley.’

  ‘Eyes can’t be smiley.’

  ‘They look as if he’s always smiling, then.’ Cissie took one last glance in the mirror.

  Tam frowned when his eldest daughter popped her head round the kitchen door. ‘You’re off, are you? Well, mind and don’t let the lad get over-familiar with you.’

  ‘I’ll watch myself.’

  ‘It’s him you’ll have to watch.’

  Hugh was waiting for her although she was a minute early herself. ‘Where do you want to go?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t care. Wherever you think.’

  ‘The Picturedrome in Skene Terrace? It’s nearest.’

  While they strolled up Schoolhill, Hugh told her that he had still two years of his apprenticeship to do. ‘Then I’ll be a time-served joiner. Ma said my father was no use with his hands – he was a clerk in a shipping office – so she made me and my brothers go in for trades. Ian’s a painter and Callum’s nearly finished his time as a plumber.’

  Cissie told him proudly that Tommy was in the Merchant Navy and that Joe was working in Hall’s, by which time they had reached the small cinema. When they went inside, she was disappointed that he didn’t even hold her hand, but assumed that he was too shy at this stage. She couldn’t get over the miracle of the cinematograph – moving pictures of real men and women in America acting out stories on a white screen, with printed words showing what they were saying. And even though she knew it was make-believe, she screamed when a train came hurtling towards her, and cried when the hero and heroine had a misunderstanding, though they made it up later.

  After the show, they walked back slowly, neither wanting their time together to end. Crowds were spilling out of His Majesty’s Theatre, for it was a live show that week rather than one of the occasional filmshows that had been introduced to compete with the new cinemas. ‘I’d like to take you to the theatre,’ Hugh said, ‘but I can’t even afford the pictures very often.’ He looked sideways at her. ‘Will you come out with me again?’

  ‘If you let me pay for myself.’

  ‘No, it’s the man’s place to pay. But maybe we could just go for a walk, if it’s fine? What about next Saturday?’

  ‘Aye, next Saturday.’ Cissie wished he had made it sooner – it would be a whole week before she saw him again.

  They walked past the Art Gallery and Robert Gordon’s College without talking, and when they reached her door, she said, ‘Here’s my house. We’re on the second floor.’

  They were standing next to the opening into Wordie’s stables, and Hugh, unable to think of anything else to say, remarked, ‘I love watching the Clydesdales pulling the heavy loads on their carts. There’s something about them that gets a hold of you.’

  Having once had her feet drenched with urine while waiting at the kerb for one of the carting company’s vehicles to pass, Cissie was not enamoured with horses, but she said, ‘Yes, they’re beautiful,’ then wished she had been honest with him.

  He held the lobby door open. ‘Next Saturday,’ he
said, and gave her an embarrassed peck on the cheek.

  When Cissie went in, her father said, ‘Did he behave?’

  ‘He didn’t even hold my hand in the pictures.’

  Her father relaxed. ‘There’s tea in the pot.’

  Filling a cup, she asked, ‘What did Mam and you do in Inverness when you were courting?’

  ‘We went walking if it was fine, along the Ness, sometimes up Tomnahurich – there’s a good view from the top – or we climbed Castle Hill. If it was raining, we’d to sit in her parlour, with her mother glowering at me like I was trying to steal her daughter from under her nose.’

  Cissie giggled. ‘Is she still alive, Mam’s mother?’

  ‘She died before we were married, and your Mam’s father had been dead for a long time. I never knew him – nor my own father, either, for he died when I was an infant.’

  He had never told her anything about his early life and she wished he would always be like this. ‘When did your mother die?’

  ‘She died of consumption when I was sixteen, and it wasn’t long after that I met your Mam and we started courting.’ He stopped speaking then, looking into the embers of the fire as if he saw images of himself as a youth and his dead wife as the comely young girl she had been. Whatever memories they conjured up, he suddenly gave himself a shake. ‘Are you to be courting this Hugh? What does he work at?’

  ‘He’s serving his time as a joiner. I don’t know if he wants to court me, but I’m seeing him again next Saturday.’

  A fit of coughing beset Big Tam then, but when it was over, he said, ‘If he does start courting you, be careful. He was maybe biding his time tonight.’

  ‘Biding his time?’

  ‘Not letting you know what he’s really after.’

  ‘Och, Da!’ Cissie was angry now. ‘He’s not like you.’

  Tam’s brows shot down. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I heard Mam getting on to you once for not being able to stay away from women, and you’ve had plenty of them here in this house, haven’t you?’

  He jumped up at that, his face an angry red. ‘What chance have I had of being with a woman these past six weeks?’ He paused, then said, hoarsely, ‘What needs I go outside, any road, when I’ve a lassie at home ready for it?’